


We Forge Ourselves

by gbuzy12



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Canon Compliant, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Black Eagles Route, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Minor Ferdinand von Aegir/Hubert von Vestra, Pre and Post Timeskip, an exploration of Ferdinand's character development, ignoring the fact that the retribution paralogue isn't available for crimson flower bc that's bs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-27
Updated: 2020-08-27
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:46:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26143561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gbuzy12/pseuds/gbuzy12
Summary: He rubs his forearm and she can see the carefree boy he was once, the brash soldier he’d been, the competent general he’d grown into, until he is again the man sitting in front of her.
Relationships: Ferdinand von Aegir & Edelgard von Hresvelg
Comments: 5
Kudos: 26





	We Forge Ourselves

When Edelgard was young, she played with the children of nobles in the capital. One of her friends was a boy about her age, with vibrant autumn hair and eyes that matched. He was wild and animated, always teasing and playful, sprinting like his energy would never run out. For a time, they did everything together: tended the horses, dueled with wooden swords, went to the opera and sang the songs as best they could remember. When Hubert sulked, the boy would drag him into their play, or ask him to keep track of how many times their swords clashed and the number of words to the arias they managed to get right. Edelgard’s childhood was colored gold and black, flanked as she was by the two boys who refused to leave her side.  
Then she was sent north.  
When she came back, the boy was now taller than her, and his locks were gone. His amber eyes had dimmed, like their color was dependent on the hair he no longer had. He wouldn’t attend the opera, or go to the castle courtyard to play with the others. Though she asked after him, she received no answers, just vague responses about duties and growing up. In time, she forgot about the bright boy with hair down to his waist and a fire that never ran out.  
Until she went to Garreg Mach, and found Ferdinand von Aegir in her life again.  
-

Duke Aegir asks to speak with her out of courtesy, she knows, but her skin still crawls when the Professor informs her of his arrival. He’d come to see Ferdinand at the Battle of Eagle and Lion, which the Black Eagles had won this year. When the class had returned to the monastery, he’d taken an empty classroom for the moment to speak with his son, and now her. Hubert at her side, Edelgard takes a deep breath before entering the room where the Duke is sitting, waiting for her.  
He had gone to fat in the last few years, and the crown of his head has appeared under his thin hair. The softness of him contrasts sharply with Ferdinand’s lithe form, to the point that Edelgard would wonder about their relationship if not for the distinctive shade of their hair. Today the Duke carries a cane, one she’d seen in court before, with a heavy, ornamented top that he rolls in his hands. Ferdinand stands to the side, his shoulders uncharacteristically hunched, his eyes trained on the floor.  
“Your Highness,” Duke Aegir says, turning his full attention to her and completely ignoring Hubert. “Your performance at the battle today was admirable.”  
“Thank you, Duke Aegir. I was glad I could lead my class to victory.”  
“Your leadership skills are certainly improving.”  
“I also have a talented group of people to work with,” she replies, biting down the discomfort in her voice.  
“Nonsense. You outperformed everyone on the field. No one else could even compete.” From the corner of her eye, Edelgard sees Ferdinand flinch.  
“A general is only worth her troops.”  
“I disagree. And with the way you move on the battlefield, Your Highness, I daresay you have no need for the useless drivel that most of your class is composed of.”  
His eyes are locked on to hers, the same deep amber of Ferdinand’s, but smaller, colder. She swallows and forces herself forward; she will not look away.  
“You flatter me, Duke Aegir.”  
“I only speak the truth.”  
There is a pause as she struggles to form a response, and Duke Aegir watches her with ice in his eyes.  
“Thank you,” she says foolishly, feeling as though she’s losing her tether in this conversation. He inclines his head in acknowledgement.  
“And I thank you for holding this audience with me, however brief. But I must be leaving now, as the capital is far and I have matters to attend to.”  
“Of course. I hope your journey is safe.”  
His cold eyes drag up and down her as he stands, leaving her feeling as though ice had just been poured over her head. “And I hope you continue to focus on your studies, and improve yourself. Some others could follow your example.” The cane clicks on the stone floor as he turns to the door, passing his son on the way. He does not spare Ferdinand a glance.  
“Safe travels, Father,” Ferdinand mumbles. Duke Aegir ignores him and sweeps out of the room, leaving them in silence.  
-

“How many times has your father hit you with that cane, Ferdinand?”  
Edelgard is so shocked by the question that she stumbles, tripping on the flagstones. To his credit, Ferdinand barely reacts, not even deigning to look in Hubert's direction.  
“I have no idea where you got such an idea,” he replies primly, back ramrod straight. His voice hardly wavers, but the double ‘idea’ gives away how flustered he is.  
“How... reserved you were when he was in the room. How meek.”  
Ferdinand speeds up.  
“How your eyes followed it, hardly ever looking away.”  
“Shut up, Hubert.”  
“Did it hurt?”  
She's recovered enough to see that she needs to intervene. Flailing a hand out, she grabs Hubert by the shoulder. “Hubert, stop-”  
“Was it more physically or emotionally painful, knowing your father would hit you?”  
Ferdinand is powerwalking at this point, but Hubert's long legs keep pace. Edelgard finds herself jogging next to him, her arm stretched out to hold onto him.  
“Shut. Up.” Ferdinand grits out.  
Edelgard pulls at Hubert’s shoulder but he shrugs her off, a sadistic grin growing on his face.  
“Come now, that’s not a very noble outburst, is-”  
Edelgard skids to a halt as Ferdinand abruptly turns, his fist colliding with Hubert’s jaw. Hubert is not so lucky as to stop; his momentum only brings him closer to Ferdinand’s fist, increasing the force. The crack echoes through the corridor as something breaks in Hubert’s face. He stumbles, catching a hand against the stonework and bringing the other to cradle his chin. Hands balled into fists by his side, Ferdinand’s features twist with fury and pain, his shoulders heaving with rage. He doesn’t move closer, though, just stares as Hubert groans through his hand.  
Edelgard is the one to speak up.  
“Ferdinand.”  
Amber eyes snap up to hers, bright with anger and shining with tears.  
“I’ll take Hubert to the infirmary. Please, return to your room.”  
His eyebrows, so carefully sculpted, scrunch together. “But-”  
“I won’t tell the Professor. I- I think you should rest.”  
Something in Ferdinand’s face seems to collapse before he’s nodding gratefully.  
“Thank you, Edelgard.”  
The heels of his boots click as he strides down the hallway, still moving like he’s being chased. She waits until he’s turned the corner before looking to Hubert. Curses mix with the blood dribbling slowly down his chin, splattering on the stone.  
“You deserved that,” she says down at him, injecting as much ice in her voice as she can muster.  
She only gets a glare from one green eye in response. Tugging on his arm, Edelgard hauls him to his feet.  
“Come on, let’s get you to the infirmary.”  
-

When Ferdinand next brags to her, she tries not to rise to the bait. She thinks about the thinly veiled comments his father had made, about how Ferdinand’s goodbye had been ignored, about how _small_ the boy in front of her had seemed in that moment. In her mind, she tells herself that she can’t judge him, not with that glimpse into his relationship with his father. With enough self-control, she can ignore him and wait for him to stop being so self-absorbed. Her mind is set on this.  
But her mouth snaps and agrees to duel him instead.  
When they reach the training grounds, he chats about his impending victory, languidly grabbing a lance from the racks. She twirls her axe, silently watching him as he returns to the dusty arena. He’s hardly stepped in the ring when she moves forward. She lunges as quickly as she can, before he can get his lance up, the blunt end of the training axe catching him in the chin and bringing him to his knees immediately. He coughs, catching the blood pouring from his mouth in one hand, waving his other in defeat as the lance clatters to the ground.  
It’s not as satisfying as she had hoped.  
Her spirits drop even further when he calls her clearly superior, and his attempt to match her laughable. She just watches as he leaves the training grounds, his handkerchief pressed tight to his chin.  
Drops of his blood have congealed in the dirt. She wipes them away with her foot.  
-

When Ferdinand shows up to class with stitches in his chin, she considers going over to apologize, but he pointedly turns his shoulder when she approaches. He blithely tells the Professor he was kicked by one of the horses when she asks about the injury. The duel did its work: Ferdinand is no longer challenging her at every opportunity. However, he’s no longer speaking to her either.  
Not that she cares, really. She has bigger things on her hands.  
Ferdinand is in the audience when she lists her first decrees as emperor. She does not see his face when she declares that his father will be stripped of his lands and title. Duke Aegir argues, bitterly and viciously, against her decision, until Hubert snaps that he should be taken away. When she looks up after the duke is dragged from the room, Ferdinand is nowhere to be seen.  
-

They are camped outside of Garreg Mach, their army sitting idle as they wait for reports of the Knights of Serios, who had massed north of the cathedral, to come in. She sits at a short desk with Hubert in a cramped tent, rummaging through paperwork and conflicting information. A letter had come in from Count Varley, asking for advice regarding Duke Aegir. She reads it, then rereads it, then sends Hubert to go find Ferdinand.  
“He should be tending the horses.”  
“Why do I have to fetch him?” asks Hubert sourly.  
“I think his counsel will be important on this matter.”  
Hubert mutters something she’s sure is disparaging towards Ferdinand but heads out to retrieve him. A few minutes later, he returns, the bright hair lighting up the tent. Hubert takes his seat to her left while Ferdinand awkwardly stands on the other side of the table.  
“I understand that this is sudden,” Edelgard starts. “But I wish to ask your opinion on something. I did not consult you before stripping your father of his title and his lands.”  
That earns her a scowl. “Remember that stripped me of mine as well.”  
“I- yes.” She draws her shoulders up. She will not let herself falter in the face of Ferdinand’s scorn.  
He remains glaring at her for a moment longer before he sighs. “Well, regardless, I have decided to take up arms with you. So I suppose the matter is moot.”  
“I asked you here to discuss his fate.”  
“His fate?”  
“Yes. Currently he remains under house arrest, but it’s unclear how long that can be acceptable to the other lords. Or to you.”  
“I do not much care.”  
To her left, Hubert starts. “That seems unlikely,” he says, a cruel undertone in his voice. “It would not be prudent to lie to us.”  
The corner of Ferdinand’s lip rises in disgust as he turns to Hubert. “I am not _lying_. There is simply no love between my father and I.”  
Edelgard waves a hand at Hubert, quieting his retort. “Would you explain?”  
Ferdinand does not turn to her, but answers anyway. “You were right, Hubert. He did hit me. Just the once, but it shattered my arm.” He rolls up his left sleeve, turning his wrist to show a large, messy white scar on the underside of his forearm. “If there had not been a healer in town, I could have lost it.”  
She feels Hubert’s discomfort, the shift of air as he looks away. Ferdinand looks her dead in the eyes now, the flecks of gold dull and flat.  
“So, no, I really have no interest in your plans for him. Whatever you deem necessary. But I will say, Edelgard, that he did much to strengthen the Empire. It is by his hand that your armies had the strength to capture Garreg Mach. Take care that you do not tear down his achievements simply because they bear his name.”  
She nods solemnly, hoping the unease stays off her face. “I will keep that in mind, Ferdinand. Thank you for your counsel. And for your loyalty.”  
A thin smile graces his face, but his eyes stay cold and dull. “If that is all, I should like to return to my work.”  
“Of course.”  
Ferdinand bows, and makes his way out of the tent.  
With him gone from the tent, Edelgard allows herself a sigh, letting her shoulders and defenses drop. There is a moment of silence where she breathes slowly, calming herself down.  
“We should just kill the Duke,” Hubert says suddenly, shattering the stillness.  
“It’s unlike you to be so blunt. And there are some political reasons-”  
“Did you see where that scar was, Lady Edelgard?”  
She’s so startled by the fact that he had actually interrupted her that she stutters through her response. “Th-the scar? Yes, I- it was on his forearm.”  
“On the underside,” Hubert says darkly.  
“It... oh.” The implication snaps into place suddenly. “Like he was defending himself.”  
“Like the blow was aimed for his head.” Hubert’s lip curls in genuine anger. It’s an unusual expression for him, despite everything. Hubert was rarely angry; he was annoyed, frequently, exasperated and frustrated by the blindness and stupidity of others, but he felt few things were worth the energy of true anger. Among those were the Church, his father, and the slithering mages who had infiltrated the Empire.  
And now he was showing that rare anger on Ferdinand’s behalf.  
Edelgard tamps down her bewilderment.  
“If we kill him, the others nobles will assume we would kill them all. We would drive away people like Ferdinand, who wish for the system to change.”  
“But if we leave him alive, can the system change? Is he not part of the old order, the greatest part of your subjugation?” Hubert has almost never argued with her before. She couldn’t even remember the last time he’d disagreed with her. It makes her feel less certain, her feet slipping underneath her.  
“I must make peace with the nobles who moved against my father, or we will lose all our support,” she answers slowly, as much to remind herself as to convince him.  
Hubert sneers, though she reasons that it isn’t at her, but rather their situation. “If you say so.”  
“I do,” she says, taken aback by Hubert’s resistance. “And Ferdinand seems to agree.”  
He is quiet for a moment, before asking, “And does he not deserve his father’s head?”  
“He does not seem to want it.”  
“I find that improbable, regardless of what he says.”  
“If he has grievances, he had the chance to air them.”  
“My father did less. Far less. And I could not stand to see him live any longer.”  
“Ferdinand is a different man,” Edelgard replies uncertainly.  
She watches his face as she speaks. Hubert is staring at the letters on the desk, his eyes clouded and brow furrowed.  
“Then he is a man I cannot fathom.”  
He reaches out, taking some report about supply chains. Edelgard hesitates a moment, then begins a letter to Count Varley, telling him to leave Duke Aegir under house arrest.  
-

They hardly see each other for the next five years. She tells herself she prefers it that way.  
Hubert, on the other hand, gripes about the brightly optimistic general constantly, muttering under his breath in annoyance every time he’s dispatched to a war meeting in the south. Ferdinand is an effective leader, by all accounts, often leading personally from the front lines. But he is cautious, sometimes abandoning his goals in favor of retreating and regrouping. She is frustrated at times by his lack of success, and relays her displeasure through Hubert. In return, he sends her vicious letters about the importance of the noble duty. It annoys her to no end, until he details it explicitly after losing a valuable fort on the border with the Kingdom. He points out his inability to hold the fort without sustaining extreme loses, loses which could have led to mutiny and desertion. Even if he had maintained control of the fort, he would have failed to hold it much longer with reduced troops. The last line of the letter tells her flatly that he refuses to take victory at the cost of unnecessary sacrifices.  
Hubert would have held the fort, no questions asked. She would have maintained it as well, not caring about the casualties. All in service of a better world.  
But Ferdinand’s words tell her that better world will not exist if she sacrifices too much to win it. That burning down this world would burn the next as well.  
For the first time since beginning the war, she begins to doubt.  
-

Her doubts fade when the Professor returns, her hair glowing like stars in the morning light. Here is a chance to shift the waters, to turn the tides, to be absolved of her sins and finish with a clear heart. The Black Eagles come together once again, gathering to the Professor like she’s a beacon, drawn to the light like moths to the flame. Once scattered through Fódlan, they now form ranks like they did at the monastery when they were young. She’d seen little of most of them, besides Hubert; it takes her time to relearn each of them, to accept who they’d become.  
-

Over the past five years, the war had stagnated and faltered. Ferdinand, however, blossomed. When the Black Eagles reassemble, he proves himself, over and over again, to be more than she had ever thought he could be. He is a stalwart advisor and a reliable general, never failing to speak his opinion and keep his troops in line. He grows his hair out until it’s halfway down his back, putting it up hastily during meetings and sweeping it out of the way impatiently. She asks him about it, and he says he’s been too busy to remember to cut it. His hair had been long, she remembers, a long time ago. She says as much and that flippant smile slides off his face so quickly she never brings it up again.  
He is much like he was when she knew him as a child, with wild, flowing hair, prone to disappearing on day-long rides and getting in fights. He is so much more than when she knew him at the academy, his confidence tempered by experience, his competitive nature tamed, his endless energy poured into the war. As an advisor, he is everything Duke Aegir trained him to be: intelligent, innovative, compromising, and logical. As a person, he is everything Duke Aegir had tried to train out of him: energetic, loyal, and boundlessly optimistic.  
-

One thing that has not changed is the vicious fights Ferdinand and Hubert get into, their arguments always derailing into shouting matches; they’re only slightly deterred by the constant lectures they get from the Professor. But even their frustrating attitudes hardly dampen her spirits. Around them, the war suddenly becomes a string of success after success, the banners of their troops rising to the sky as they burn through the Alliance.  
Ferdinand begs her to consider sparing Claude long before their reach Derdriu; she does, letting him fly off to Almyra on his wyvern. The decision sparks another fight between her two advisors, one that she feels obligated to stop.  
Claude would not forget this debt, she tells Hubert. The safety of the Empire requires harsh measures, she tells Ferdinand. A better future, she tells them both, cannot be built on endless bloodshed.  
-

In the background of their conquests, Duke Aegir escapes house arrest. Hubert immediately suggests that they track him down and finally kill him, and Edelgard reluctantly relents.  
The Duke is found in the old Hrym lands, hanging from a tree, murdered by a mob of angry commoners. Many of them bear the same marks she does: the burns and cuts of experimentation. Hubert cuts him down and covers the body with a sheet before Ferdinand can see it.  
Ferdinand digs him a grave under the tree he’d died in. Hubert helps lower the body and fill in the earth, using magic to move the weight. Edelgard watches as Ferdinand sings softly, a prayer to the Goddess she never believed in rising into the air.  
-

Ferdinand is despondent for nearly a week after his father’s death, his normal optimism drained away, leaving only pure energy. Edelgard barely sees him, as he is always off somewhere, scouting the area, exercising the horses, riding alone at the crack of dawn. No one can confirm that he’s getting any food from the mess hall, and Bernadetta begins leaving packaged meals at his door, which only pile up.  
After five days, Hubert approaches her.  
“You need to do something about him.”  
She doesn’t have to ask who. “What am I to do?”  
“Talk to him.”  
“I’m not sure I would have much to say.”  
“Neither did I.”  
She can’t conceal her surprise. “You spoke to him?”  
Hubert pulls on his sleeve, uncomfortable. “I tried to… comfort him. I have never been one for condolences, and frankly I fail to see why they are needed now. He did not take my attempts well.”  
“What happened?”  
“Ah. He, uh, cried and threw his gauntlets at me.”  
“Oh.”  
“He has quite the arm, too.”  
“So I have to talk to him?!”  
Hubert’s face twists in annoyance as he looks away. “He is bringing the whole army down. He is, as much as it physically pains me to say, important to the war effort. He cannot continue in this state. It… hurts, to see him like this.”  
“I’ll speak to him.”  
She does not acknowledge the relief and gratefulness that floods Hubert’s face. She chooses instead to think about the whole of the army, the importance of Ferdinand to troop morale. But the twist of Hubert’s face and the weight of her heart, she knows, are more important than the war.  
-

She knocks on his door and Ferdinand calls her in. Tripping over the carefully wrapped bread and fruits by the door as she enters, the tokens of Bernadetta’s attempts to help, she stumbles and steadies herself on the bedpost. The room is practically empty, lacking any personal effects besides his armor, piled in a trunk on the floor. It had been cluttered when they were at school, and she wonders when he’d gotten rid of everything.  
Ferdinand is fresh from the baths, toweling his hair dry. He’d been riding most of the day, and she can see the exhaustion in his limbs as he paces the room.  
“Ferdinand.”  
“Is it something important, Edelgard? I have matters to attend to.” She is certain he does not. His entire battalion is in perfect order, of course, and she had been assigning his normal tasks to others.  
“It is important, Ferdinand. Please sit, you must be exhausted.”  
“Fine, if it makes you uncomfortable.” He collapses at his desk, tossing the towel aside. The remaining energy seems to drain from him the instant he sits, his limbs loosening.  
“Are you alright?”  
He seems taken aback by the question. “Of course. Is that in doubt?”  
“Yes, otherwise I would not ask.”  
He looks away at that.  
“I… I did not think his death would affect me. He was a terrible father, and a worse man.”  
Edelgard says nothing, but gestures for him to continue when he glances at her. He sighs, and goes on. “He sold the Empire to dark forces. He was complicit in the destruction of people’s lives. He participated himself. And yet… he made the Empire stronger. He centralized power, strengthening our country and cutting off the petty squabbles of the nobility. He lifted the population out of starvation, spearheaded new initiatives to help the people. He taught me, raised me to be strong and confident. I would not be able to wage this war without growing up the way I did. I would not be who I am without him.”  
She watches as he begins to cry, tears spilling down the lines of his face, sharpened by the years. “But he hurt me so much. In what he did, in what he made me do, in what he forbade me from doing. In forcing me to be something I was not.” He laughs, wet and brittle. “And I do not have the right to complain. I grew up wanting nothing, in a home that was safe and comfortable. Most people have fared far worse. _You_ have fared far worse, and yet I am still blabbering about my awful, _dead_ father…”  
“My pain does not lessen yours. The fact that I have suffered does not mean you haven’t, or that you do not have the right to be upset.”  
“This is unfair to you,” he says, smiling dully through his tears. “I should-”  
“It’s unfair to everyone!” she snaps, her patience already worn thin. “It’s unfair that anyone should suffer! Should be forced to go through this war! Should have such a father and watch him die! None of it is fair!”  
He stares at her in shock, the tears still running slowly down his cheeks.  
“None of it is fair and we have the right to be angry! To cry! To mourn what was done to us and what we have lost!”  
When she finishes, she looks up to see Ferdinand’s face crumple. Sobs fill the room as he puts his face in his hands, heavy and almost silent cries shuddering through him. Crossing the room, she puts a hand on his shoulder, weighing him down until he can tether himself.  
“You have the right to hate him,” she says quietly. “And you have the right to mourn him.”  
She stands there for a long time, waiting for him to come back.  
-

They head to the Kingdom, taking the southern forts and pushing towards Faerghus. They take the Kingdom’s main force in a bloody, vicious rout that leaves half their troops dead. The footsteps of the demonic beasts have left sunken craters in the mud; the weight of Dimitri’s head leaves an ache in her shoulders. Turning away from the limp body, she wanders the battlefield aimlessly. She sees Ferdinand among the wreckage, his hair a beacon even in the pouring rain as he hunts for wounded soldiers and brings them off the battlefield. She joins him, sloughing through the mud. A few minutes later, Hubert flags them down and she and Ferdinand lift a horse while Hubert pulls out the wounded woman who’d been trapped underneath it. They comb the battlefield for as many people as they can before the exhaustion descends on them all. Ferdinand invites them to his tent and he tries to start a fire, the water dripping off his armor putting it out several times before Hubert huffs and lights it with magic. Ferdinand serves them all tea in battered metal mugs, and Edelgard leans against him on the ground as they listen to the rain pound the earth and the discarded bodies outside.  
-

They turn to the capital, waging war on streets that are going up in flames. She loses track of Ferdinand and Hubert over the course of the battle, turns all her attention towards the beast whose wings darken the sky, the monster who has kept Fódlan in her clawed grasp for far too long.  
The ground shudders as Rhea’s form slams into the earth, her dying breaths steaming in the air. Edelgard revels in the survival of the Professor, feeling her heart beat to life again under her hand, and joins in the festivities, in the joy of having secured their liberation. There is much work to be done, but it can wait, for now.  
-

She wants to burn Shambhala to the ground after they conquer it. Ferdinand is the one who stays her hand, pointing out how much technology they could take and decipher. She wants to kill all the nobility, but Ferdinand is the one who speaks of the necessity of their support during the war and the upcoming transition. She wants to tear down the Church, but Ferdinand encourages her to publish their secrets and let it disintegrate that way. With his steady hand by her side, she moves forward carefully, healing the scars that her war had left on the continent. Hubert and Ferdinand, to her surprise, work better together in peacetime than they ever did during the war, arranging the deals, both public and private, necessary to bring about the changes she sought. She only tells the Professor, in whispers after dinner, that Ferdinand had asked her about when imports of coffee from Dagda would come and Hubert had bought ten types of tea and asked her which one was the best.  
-

She calls Ferdinand to her office two years after Rhea’s death. Hubert is off meeting diplomats from Brigid, which he had complained about thoroughly before heading out in a dark storm. He is softer, these days, and more prone to showing his annoyances and delights. She knows why; she’s waiting on the reason now.  
She calls for Ferdinand to enter when he knocks, and he takes a seat without asking like he would have five years ago. Sitting primly on the edge of the couch in her office, he plays with the end of his hair, cascading down his shoulder in a thick braid.  
“Going riding today?” she asks, putting her signature on one last document.  
“Yes, it has been some time since I was last able to enjoy a long ride. You certainly keep me busy, Edelgard.” He smiles gently, fingers curling in the amber strands. A ring glints on his hand, a golden stone set in a delicately carved black band. She’d helped pick it out.  
“Well, I have confidence in you.”  
“Thank you. I daresay I have worked hard to earn it.”  
She laughs shortly. “Yes, you have. I would even say that you are vital to my government. Without you… I could have lost myself during the war and buried the good with the bad. All I fought for would have been forfeit if you had not steadied and counseled me. Your compassion, your optimism, and your perspective have pushed me to think bigger. To temper my ambitions and hammer them into reality. To weigh the costs and consider all my options. To be better than I was before. There aren’t the words to express my gratitude.”  
He’s biting his lip and looking away, but Edelgard can hear him sniff loudly. She waits while he delicately dabs at his face with a handkerchief.  
“As such, I would like you to be my prime minister.”  
Ferdinand folds the fabric back into his pocket. “Pardon?”  
“I’d like you to be my prime minster.”  
Ferdinand frowns in confusion. “Am I not already your prime minister?”  
Edelgard stares at him. “You are not.”  
“Oh. I thought I was.”  
“No.”  
“Then what am I now?”  
She opens her mouth to reply before realizing she doesn’t actually have an answer. He watches her flounder, amusement crossing his face.  
“Well,” she says, embarrassed but trying to take it in stride. “I guess I shall skip the formal ceremony I had thought of. But the position is yours.”  
He laughs, bright and earnest as ever. “I am happy to accept.”  
“Very well, Prime Minister Aegir.”  
He stares at her a moment, a string of emotions crossing his face.  
“Thank you, Your Majesty. I will serve you to the best of my abilities.”  
He rubs his forearm and she can see the carefree boy he was once, the brash soldier he’d been, the competent general he’d grown into, until he is again the man sitting in front of her, stronger and brighter than he’d ever been. The culmination of a dream, of throwing off the shackles of his father and their society, of rebuilding and redefining until he was somebody he wanted to be.  
“And we will forge a better future together,” she tells him. “Just as we have forged ourselves.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!  
> Their duel is a reference to Edelgard and Ferdinand's B support.


End file.
